Page 62 of Warmer, Colder

He flicks on the light to see more clearly, but it also illuminates the rapid aging he’s suffered over the last few months. Being this close to him it’s easy to see that his typically slim runner’s build now appears sunken. The wrinkles around his eyes are grim reminders of his loss instead of just signs of someone who’s spent a lot of days out in the sun. And the frown lines that bracket his mouth have made themselves at home.

The vast majority of the time I avoid looking too closely at their faces, afraid of what horrors I’ll see there, but in this proximity, there’s no other option but to accept the impact my death has on them still. It would be naive of me to think that the loss of theironly daughter wouldn’t destroy them, but I’d hoped it would get easier with time, as it has been for me. Apparently, I was wrong.

My guilt urges my hand forward, desperate to feel the warmth of him, needing to console him in some way. But instead of comfort, chills of unease cover his skin, and his shoulders nearly touch his ears.

I’m not his little girl anymore. I’ve become a parasite, clinging to my parents, sucking them dry.

I wish they’d leave like Aiden did, the urge to scare them out of here is strong, but I also know how much this house means. It’s not my place to choose what’s best for them, just like there wasn’t anything they could have done to stop me from killing myself. We all make choices for our own reasons.

I remain resolved to stay out of their way, to continue to go unnoticed. I won’t risk hurting them more. That’s why I stay completely still as my dad reaches down to pick up the spilled books that are mere inches from my feet.

An exhausted sigh leaves his lips as he straightens the stack on the desk, but he hesitates, rubbing a thumb over the cover of the yearbook. Pulling out the desk chair, he sits and opens it up, flipping to the page where mine and Aiden’s photos sit side by side. At that age, we still looked quite similar. Before I was allowed to start wearing makeup to school and Aiden’s striking features really hollowed out. A small laugh escapes me as I stare at the picture longer, remembering how Aiden convinced me to go along with his plan. Knowing we’d be next to each other, him first, me second, we’d purposely cast a sideways glance no matter how much the photographer tried to correct us. In the photos it looks like we’re scheming—I guess we were. Those were the good days.

My dad laughs too; he must remember how mad my mom was at us. It’s not a full laugh like the ones that used to boom around the dinner table, but it’s something. It’s warmth I haven’t feltin so long. Even when he’s gone, Aiden’s charm is impossible to ignore.

The splash on the waxy paper is jarring, breaking me from my revelry. While I’ve been walking down memory lane, my dad has too, thumbing through the pages, stumbling across what I’d come looking for but had successfully kept hidden from my parents until now.

“Oh, Becca.” He shakes his head as he touches the words on the page like he can soothe that sad little girl who cried over the things that had been written there.

Becca Murphy loves Ana Eden.

H.A.G.S. (making out with Ana)

2 Good 2 Be 4 Forgotten (as the gayest girl in school)

Becca and Ana sitting in a tree.

Looking at the comments now, it seems almost silly that I allowed them to have such an impact on me, but I was twelve. Then there were the ones that did more than embarrass me. My dad turns the page. These were the ones that made the cold sweat of shame coat me before I entered any room.

Girls like you shouldn’t be allowed in the locker room.

If you’re reading this, you’re finding out you’re uninvited to Tracy’s party.

Call me, let’s hang out!With the number next to it desperately scribbled out.

My stomach sinks further as my dad covers his mouth and another tear hits the page. I wish more than ever that Aiden was here. He was so good at comforting people the way they needed and at fixing things, like how he’d replaced my yearbook with his when he saw me crying over it. It was empty except for the letter he’d written to me.

He deserved so much better than how I traumatized him. They all did.

Deflated with the onslaught of negative memories, I sink to the floor and watch helplessly as my dad mourns his daughter once again.

“Becccaaaa,” my name comes from the darkness behind me. I shoot to my feet, knocking into some of the empty hangers. My first instinct is to look for my dad’s reaction, but he’s long gone.

“Stasi?” I whisper despite knowing better.

“Becccaaaa,” now the voice is Aiden’s. The icy chill of dread freezes my muscles as I search the closet for the source. Parting the clothes, I peer into the back of the closet. “What are you so afraid of?” it says now in Stasi’s voice.

Fear tugs me backward as I back out of the closet, nearly tripping on sneakers as I search the walls for whatever is in here with me.

“Becca, stay with me.” Aiden’s voice pleads with me from above and I stop moving. My neck tilts reluctantly, rusty hinges screaming as I look up, up, up.

I clutch my hands around my mouth, suffocating the shriek that wants to leave me as I stare into the black mass that hovers there.

“You’re such a fucking coward,” it laughs, mirroring Stasi’s antagonistic sneer.

Before I can second guess my decision, I take off in a sprint, terror nipping at my heels as I shove open the sliding door. I slide to a halt outside the guest house.

“I don’t need her,” I scold myself, but when I turn back, the dark figure is looming on the other side of the glass door. In a decision that I’ll surely regret, I swallow my pride and crack the door open, slipping inside the quiet room.

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